


Steal My Sweaters, Not My Heart

by PeterParkers7EvilExes (antimone_ii), ru17



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, in which Peter is a clothes-stealing thot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18855784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimone_ii/pseuds/PeterParkers7EvilExes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ru17/pseuds/ru17
Summary: "Is it my sweater?""If you need it back - come and get it."Alternatively: an AU where Peter steals Bucky’s sweaters.





	Steal My Sweaters, Not My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Is it my sweater?](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/481699) by Zayacv. 



> Please go check out [zayacv's brilliant artwork here](https://zayacv.tumblr.com/post/184728282565/) and give them a follow!

Peter hates Canada.

Geographically speaking, that is. Culture-wise, Canada is beautiful and majestic. But the entire week they spend there on their reconnaissance mission is like spending seven straight days living at a ski resort, and Peter is decidedly not a fan.

Thankfully, Mr. Stark is a genius and his suit’s built-in heater keeps him warm enough to function. Peter does his best to stay clear of the ice and snow and blizzards and avalanches that stand between them and the supervillain lair they’re surveying, and for the most part, he’s successful.

But because he’s Peter Parker and Parkers have infamously bad luck, on the last day of their mission the bad guys they’re spying on become aware of their presence and launch an ambush. It’s not much of a fight-- there are very few people who pose actual threats to the Avengers these days-- but it’s hectic and chaotic enough that Peter still manages to take a few good hits.

And okay. _Maybe_ he wouldn’t have taken as many if he was more focused, but-- that’s hard, okay? He’s got a lot on his mind lately. Or, well. One thing. But it’s a pretty big thing.

“Spider-Man, watch out!”

His senses blare jarringly just before he’s struck hard in the chest and sent flying backwards. By a canon. Because of course these bad guys hiding out in the Canadian arctic have _canons_ defending their hideout. Parker luck strikes again.

The blow isn’t the worst part, the worst part is that he’s flung into a 10-foot-deep bank of snow just at the exact moment that his suit goes on the fritz. Being stranded in a winter wonderland is bad enough, but Peter had no way of knowing it would be _this_ bad now that his built-in heater has gone kaput.

It’s a deep, bone-rattling cold that makes his teeth chatter and his muscles seize. By the time he’s clawed his way out of the snow, the bad guys have fled, and the team has gathered around to take stock of their injuries and prepare for recall. Before he can start dragging himself to his feet, a silver hand stretches out in front of his face to help him up. “You okay?”

Peter looks up and feels his entire face flush red at the genuinely concerned look on Bucky’s face. “F-fine,” he stammers, taking the man’s hand and letting him pull him up. “Nothing d-damaged ‘cept my p-pride.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, and gives him a slow once-over that’s _almost_ enough to make Peter forget the biting cold, especially when the man starts pulling off his jacket and then drapes it over Peter’s shoulders. “Here,” he says, giving him a smile. “Let’s get you on the plane, yeah?”

He fumbles over a lame thank-you, then lets Bucky guide him to the clearing where the Quinjet is parked.

Okay. So maybe Canada isn’t so bad, after all.  


* * *

  
He takes a little _longer_ than he should giving Bucky his jacket back. It smells good in a way that makes Peter feel warm all over, and he spends more than one evening wearing it in front of his mirror, hugging the lapels tight to his chest and admiring the way the supple leather bunches around his shoulders.

Eventually, he slips into Bucky’s room and leaves the jacket on his bed with a little post-it note stuck to the sleeve: ‘ _Thanks for keeping me warm :)’_ On his way out, he spots a hamper neatly tucked into the corner of the room, the sleeve of Bucky’s dark red henley draped over the edge. Peter hesitates, eyes flicking to the door.

He grabs the henley and cradling his stolen treasure like a thief in the night, he runs back to his room.

That night, Peter folds the henley under his pillow and when the lights are off and he’s certain the rest of the compound is asleep, he folds it against his face and inhales the fabric, his toes curling and his heart rabbiting in his chest.

That kickstarts Peter’s… kleptomania. He finds, to his dismay, that Bucky’s shirt loses its familiar scent after a week in his bed, so Peter carefully tucks it back into the bottom of his teammate’s laundry basket and snatches a hoodie this time, the ends of it threadbare and the sleeves so long on his arms they pool far past his fingertips.

He takes to wearing Bucky’s clothes for comfort (only, of course, when Bucky’s off-base on some mission or other). “Isn’t that hoodie a little big for you?” Clint asks one evening in the common room, raising his eyebrows at where Peter’s curled up on the sofa working on his lab report.

Peter blinks at him, his nose currently buried in the hem of his Bucky’s hoodie. “I like it roomy,” he says sheepishly, and Clint shrugs.

His pining doesn’t go unnoticed for long.

Nat is the first to say something about it, her sharp eyes always calculating. “You’re distracted,” she says after a training bout, unwrapping her hands.

“Hmm?” Peter passes a towel through his hair, eyes fixed across the locker room where Bucky’s stripping his white tank off, his back muscles rippling and shining with sweat.

“ _Peter_.”

“Ow!” Peter winces as Nat smacks the top of his head.

“Careful, you’re drooling all over yourself,” she says wryly, but she’s smirking at him. Peter flushes pink and looks down at his hands.

“He’s sweet,” he says quietly.

Nat sighs and puts her hands on her hips, looking appraisingly at the other ex-super spy with a somewhat critical eye. “He is soft on you, isn’t he?” She waits until the door swings shut behind him. “You should make a move. Other than, you know, hoarding his dirty laundry like a weird… spider-y magpie.”

“You _know_ about that?” Peter squawks in alarm.

She rolls her eyes again and hefts her bag over her shoulder, turning to go. “Kid, the only one who _doesn’t_ know about your little crush is the one idiot you managed to fall for. And that’s just ‘cause he’s so in love with _you_ , his own IQ went down a few points too.”

Peter’s left sitting stunned in the locker room by himself, a dopey grin on his face.  


* * *

 

As thrilling as it is to sneak around Bucky’s room when he’s not home, Peter really does hate the stealing.

He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, not to mention a breach of Bucky’s trust. And yet he can’t make himself stop. Every time he steals a new sweater, he tells himself, “Okay, this time, this time for sure. This is the last time, I mean it.” And every time, it never is.

Because every time a sweater loses Bucky’s lingering scent, fading into nothing, Peter’s mouth goes dry like he’s dying of thirst and he feels an irresistible, unmistakable _need._ It gets to the point where he tries to quit cold-turkey, refusing to put on one of Bucky’s sweaters as he stretches out on his bed and eases his jeans down, but that leads to a very upsetting and unfortunate realization real quick.

Over the last several weeks of being a sweater-thief, Peter’s been using the stolen articles as an… aid, of sorts. Not in the super gross way, it’s just-- the smell is nice, when he’s feeling pent-up. It’s become a habit for him to bury the lower half of his face in the collar of Bucky’s sweatshirts, naked except for them, and steadily inhale the man’s scent as he touches himself. It helps him… imagine things.

So when he decides he’s not going to steal anymore and then tries to break his habit, he’s met with certain… complications. Namely, no matter how long he does it for, no matter what he watches during, no matter how excited he is before, he can’t _finish._ The stuff he imagines feels token and shabby compared to the ultra-realistic visions he was having before.

As horrifying as it is, he’s trained his body to respond to Bucky’s scent, and Bucky’s scent alone.

So quitting isn’t really an option, despite how much Peter hates stealing.

That’s what leads him to this extremely upsetting predicament.

“Pete? You wanna tell me why you’re shirtless in my bedroom?”

“Uhhh…”

Crap. Peter feels his entire body flush red. Bucky wasn’t supposed to be home from his mission for two more _days--_ and this _really_ doesn’t look good; him, standing in the middle of Bucky’s room, shirtless with Bucky’s sweater clutched tightly in his hand. There’s only one thing he can say.

“Um,” he says again, turning and facing Bucky with an apologetic look. “Sorry, uh, i-it’s just - I think our laundry got mixed up?”

“Oh,” Bucky says, his face - _falling?_ “Weird. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay! I, uh, I didn’t mind. I mean, um, this is a comfy sweater. I almost didn’t even notice.”

Bucky’s face softens into a warm smile. Peter feels his whole body burn in a pleasant, tingly way. “You can keep it if you want,” he says. “I’m sure it looks better on you than it does on me.”

 _Yeah right. Have you_ seen _yourself?_   “Oh, uh-- you sure? I don’t wanna, like, take your stuff, Bucky.” _Not to keep, anyways._

“I’m sure.” Bucky walks further into the room, looking him up and down in a way that makes Peter’s knees feel all wobbly. “I can’t very well send you back out there half-naked, can I? Nobody else should see you like this.”

 _Nobody ‘else’?_ “You’re - a true gentleman,” Peter stammers, throwing the sweatshirt over his head just to hide how red and flushed he is from his forehead all the way down. “Th-thanks, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice is low, like a purr. “I was right, you look good.” He reaches out and playfully tugs on the hem, which thankfully hangs low enough to hide how Peter is suddenly tenting the front of his jeans. “Almost as good as you looked in my jacket.”

Ugh, his _jacket._ Peter’s wanted to steal borrow that the most since he started sneaking around, but stupid Bucky almost always has it on him. “Really? Maybe-- maybe you should lend it to me again sometime.”

Bucky grins at him. It’s seriously rude for someone to be as hot as he is. “Maybe I should,” he chuckles, a low, gravelly sound that goes straight to Peter’s cock. Crap. He needs to get out of here, before Bucky realizes he’s a liar and a pervert and never wants to see him again.

Trying to hide that he’s running away, Peter shimmies towards the door and offers a lame, high-pitched, “Well, uh, thanks for the sweater. I’ll see you later!” before he flees from the room.

He throws himself into his bedroom and shuts the door behind him, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he lifts the baggy sleeves to his face and inhales. He thinks about the way Bucky _looked_ at him, sharp blue eyes drinking him in like he wasn’t wearing anything at all and he shudders, a pleasant warmth shooting down his spine. He jumps into his bed and tentatively reaches between his legs, burying his nose in the collar of the sweatshirt and closing his eyes.

After that, Peter takes a few more liberties with his stealing habits.

He gets a little braver, taking to wearing Bucky’s hoodies in the lab, even when Bucky’s not scheduled out on missions. “It’s cold in here!” he says defensively, and Mr. Stark just raises an eyebrow at him dubiously before thankfully dropping the subject. During movie nights, he’ll curl up in the corner of the sofa, wrapped snug in one of Bucky’s loose-fitting thermals and shiver warm all over as he feels blue eyes piercing into him from across the room.

Then, one day, Peter finally gives in and steals Bucky’s leather jacket. He’s on his way downtown to meet May for dinner and it’s just sitting at the kitchen table, begging to be snatched. It’s cold outside anyways, so he pulls the dark leather on over his shoulders and is immediately wrapped up in Bucky’s scent. He hugs the heavy labels tight around his throat.

He passes Bucky and Sam on the way out, the two of them laden down with grocery bags and Bucky looks Peter up and down. “Is that mine?” he asks lightly, but there’s something sharp in his eyes as he stares _hungrily_ at Peter.

“Finders keepers,” Peter says with a little grin, and he walks off before Bucky can say anything else.

They establish a kind of pattern - the ‘idiots’ mating dance’, Nat calls it drily. Peter wears Bucky’s clothes bravely, daring Bucky to say something - and each time, Bucky calls him on his bluff.

“That’s mine,” he says, dipping his metal fingers into the collar of his hoodie, cold hands sending goosebumps down Peter’s spine. Peter shudders and looks up at Bucky, wide-eyed, but he always stammers over his words, making up some excuse about how cold it is, or how he didn’t realize - and mercifully, Bucky grins and lets him go each time.

And yet, Peter can’t help himself.

First, pulled on over a shirt of his own while he studies out in the living room. Then, lifting his leather jacket off of Bucky’s shoulders while they’re out in public. (That one makes Bucky’s eyes gleam - he hooks an arm around Peter’s waist and drags him close, then tugs at the collar of the jacket. “There,” he says, smoothing large hands over Peter’s shoulders. “Much better.”)

Every time Bucky catches him wearing something of his, he touches him in some way, whether it’s to tuck the tag back into the back of his sweatshirt or straighten the too-large clothes as they hang off his thin frame, or even (and this one humiliates Peter a little bit) rolling up the sleeves of one of his hoodies as they dangle far past Peter’s hands, smirking at him as he bunches them up to his elbows.

It’s like Bucky can’t keep his hands to himself when he sees Peter wearing his clothes, and as much as that knowledge empowers him, it also makes his knees feel like Jello and his stomach feel like the roiling ocean. But it also gives him an idea. It takes time for him to work up the nerve, but once he does, he knows exactly what he needs to do.

He waits until they’re alone. That’s not too hard - between missions, Mr. Stark’s expos, Steve’s charity events and those among the team who still have civilian lives and families, it’s not that uncommon that the compound is empty.

He picks his favorite hoodie while Bucky’s training in the gym. It’s the softest, baggiest casual one, the same calming, royal blue of Peter’s bedroom walls at home. He slips it on and feels his nerves fall away as he’s hit by the soothing scent of _Bucky_ all around him.

Then he picks his favorite boxers, the short white ones that hug his ass in way that makes him feel sexy without being uncomfortable. He looks at himself briefly in the mirror, how naked he looks when Bucky’s large hoodie falls down to his thighs and almost hides the fact that he’s wearing boxers at all.

But his legs look good, he has to admit. Taking a deep breath, Peter runs his hands through his hair and leaves his room, heading for the open living room that Bucky will have to walk through on the way back to his own room.

But when he gets there, he’s surprised to see Bucky already leaning against the bar, idly flipping through a magazine, even though Peter’s never seen him hang out in the common areas by himself before. Bucky’s only ever spent time in here when there’s movie nights or Steve and Sam (or Natasha and Clint) force him to socialize, so Peter’s momentarily startled to see him standing there alone.

But then Bucky turns around and _looks_ at him.

Peter feels all the blood in his body rush into his face. He almost doesn’t even recognize Bucky for the dark, hungry look that takes over his face. Bucky steps away from the counter slowly, stalking toward him like a predator, dragging his eyes up and down Peter’s half-naked form shamelessly.

“This is mine,” he says in a low voice, practically a growl.

“If you want it back,” Peter says, breathless, “come and get it.” And then he’s being shoved against the wall and Bucky’s mouth finally, _finally_ presses against his.

It takes him half a second to process this, and then he’s kissing Bucky back eagerly, throwing his arms around his broad shoulders and dragging him close. Bucky makes a surprised noise but Peter can feel his smile against his lips, warm and soft as he presses Peter against the wall, sliding his hands underneath his stolen hoodie.

Peter shivers happily as Bucky’s palms roam over his skin, one burning hot like a brand and the other smooth metal, leaving goosebumps in its wake as Bucky greedily maps the expanse of his back. Leaning up on his tiptoes, Peter sucks Bucky’s lower lip into his mouth, licking and biting at him until the supersoldier groans and kisses him back just as fiercely, distracted while Peter yanks at the soft red t-shirt he’s wearing and tugs it up.

Then he feels large hands slipping down, down into the waistband of his underwear and Peter whimpers as Bucky kneads at his ass. “You been tryin’ to rile me up,” Bucky breathes hot against his cheek, and Peter laughs breathlessly, nodding as he clumsily seeks out his lips again.

“You just noticed?” he teases, and he drops his head back against the wall, biting back a moan when Bucky squeezes two handfuls of his ass.

With an appreciative moan, Bucky returns to his initial task and pulls his hoodie off of Peter, leaving his hair staticky as he strips him half-naked. Peter shivers again - not from the cold - and feeling braver than he’s ever felt before, he cups Bucky’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the sharp line of his jaw and drags him down for another kiss, this one chaste and sweet.

“Thought you said no one else should see me like this,” he says, his voice quiet and hopeful.

Bucky grins. He wraps his arms around him suddenly and picks him up under his thighs, and Peter laughs as he’s hoisted up, his arms still clasped tight around Bucky’s shoulders. “That’s damn right,” Bucky says, his voice gruff and _possessive,_ and Peter kisses him again as they stumble backwards to find someplace a little more private.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to [zayacv](https://zayacv.tumblr.com/) for allowing us to write totally self-indulgent fanfic based off of incredible Winterspider arts! 💕


End file.
